


New York Morning

by wanderlustlover



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Let's Get Gay Married Commentfic Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlustlover/pseuds/wanderlustlover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inside of Carlisle's head felt like one of those drums at the that really horrible symposium in June, in the performances no one had gotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New York Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephmuji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephmuji/gifts).



> Another piece that was inspired by the Let's Get Gay Married Challenge, except this one only ended up the beginning snippet of the actual ficI had in mind. So have a tiny snippet for posterity.
> 
> Random alternate, all human, universe.

The inside of Carlisle's head felt like one of those drums at the that really horrible symposium in June, in the performances no one had gotten. That was the first thought he'd had that morning. 

Foreign. Drilling all of his thoughts apart like shards under a ice pick. The way the leather had stretched taut from hours of being played, shaking, threatening to break and somehow, somehow, always remaining there. The way it made. 

The light filtered in from somewhere, stabbing him like white hot knives as his eyelids flickered open. A groan escaped him and then the bed shook, demanding his eyelids flutter, focus. On the face of a boy, with such young features, murumuring inchoerent words into his bare should, before settling again, like some cross between a dead weight and an overgrown puppy.

The urge to groan came again. Only this time it came with the bed and the room blurring, his body shivering, and the uncontrollable need to close his eyes again. How much had he drank last night? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember much of anything honestly. 

The assumption was easy. His eyes cracked open again. shifted, slowly, so as not to wake the boy. Yes. Easy. There was a definite lack of clothing going on with the chest pressed against his, the rise of the slim shoulder not far from his chin, and his legs against the sheets.


End file.
